


The ER

by BitterTeaBouquet



Category: Alex Verus Series - Benedict Jacka
Genre: M/M, more added later, non-magic au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTeaBouquet/pseuds/BitterTeaBouquet
Summary: In a non-magic AU, Alex meets all of his friends a lot sooner, as he is still under Richards house. This time, things may end up a little differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I first posted ER- part one, on the Drabbles and Snippets work, but then decided it may drag on a little longer than I expected. Oops. 
> 
> There is an American to British slang translator and it is possibly the most useful thing when writing Verus fic.

ALEX POV

He is the most self-centred prick I have ever met. He has a suit on, it’s tight and defines everything about his biceps and ass. I would have the opportunity to enjoy it if I didn’t have Richards slashes on my back.

That bastard had me whipped. He didn’t even have the heart to do it himself. Tobruk, of course, went hard and fast, like he usually does. I held in my screams for the first three but eventually, I broke. He took far too much pleasure in hearing me suffer. After a while, it got to the point where I would pass out for a second, then wake up just as the next whip came across my flesh again. It tore. Over and over, my skin tore. With every jerk and movement, I could feel the blood drip down to my butt, down my legs. It left me ill. I threw up all over myself. That’s when Richard told him to stop. 30 lashes. 30.

Then he strode off towards me, wearing that stupid jingly mask with the bright orange feather. Absolutely ridiculous. He took Tobruk by the elbow and told him how well he did. How amazing he whipped me. He gave Maria the order to take me to a hospital, while he skipped off to a mascaraed with the other three.

She cupped my cheek when she stopped the car. The bright ER sign glowed red behind her lush, silver curls. Her bottom lip was stuck out, her eyes beady and red.

“Did you take it?” She asked me, her voice sounds like an egg being boiled by the sun on the pavement. Popping and sizzling, rough and dirty. The voice of my personal fallen angel.

I shook my head, incapable of any words. She dug around in her purse, pulling out a packet of pills. She saves these for me specifically, or very major cases of pain. She used to be in a group of underground scientists or better-called drug-makers. They called themselves the Healthcore, helping people overcome pain and disease with affordable drugs. Unfortunately, a side effect was that they were a prototype and illegal. No wonder it got shut down so quickly. Still, Maria has a recipe book tucked away somewhere. With one that has been perfected through trial and error, one that temporarily stops the person from feeling any pain at all. She calls it Euphoria.

She dropped me off, leaving me to struggle to the door by myself. I got in and sat down, only talking when Euphoria kicked in and took over. That when he sat down.

I look over at him now, scowling with more strength than I should be able to muster. He has darker hair than any I have ever seen before, I thought it would be dyed, but there are individual strands of silver running through. His face is unlined and jaw sharp, he looks to be about thirty.

“And what are you looking at?” He smirks as if reading my thoughts.

“A bitch.”

His smirk deepens and a manicured eyebrow is raised, “Oh really?”

I roll my eyes, “Why else would I have said it?”

He breathes out through his nose. A half-assed attempt at laughter. When he does, he moves his leg, which is positioned on top of two chairs and four towels. The ice pack laid on his ankle shifts and he releases a loud wince. He clutches his chest with one hand and glares at the man standing near him.

“Go see what is taking the doctors so long,” He snaps.

The man, or rather, a boy, perhaps in his early teens, rushes off. I watch him disappear around the corner, where the receptionist is. No doubt she will tell him that he needs to be less impatient and sit down. I look around the waiting room, which is easily holding close to two hundred people. A man rests in the corner, dosing with a book. In his thigh is a handlebar of a bicycle. He’s been here longer than I, and it’s been near a half hour since I arrived.

I see several scowls thrown towards the suited man. Mostly given by a thin girl with a breathing tube clicked into her nose. The rest of her is covered up by careful white bandages. There is a metal bracelet clipped over top her bandages, which in bright red lettering reads: **Severe and unusual** **Dermatitis, Allergy to Human skin.** She is forced to stand because of lack of seating, almost pressed up against two other people. She catches me staring. I look away.

“You should stop taking up so much space,” I grimace when I look back at the chairs he is using.

“You should stop talking in such a judgemental manner. Have you ever learned manners?”

I scoff, “Manners? I think I have more than you do. Let other people sit down instead of balancing your precious leg.”

His eyes narrow, he still wears that smirk but it is sharper now, “I was told to keep it elevated. If you are so worried about other people why don’t you give someone your seat, hm?”

“I don’t think there is enough hand sanitizer to clean it first.”

His expression drops into that of understanding when he looks down at the chair for the first time. While the back part is fine, my leaning over has protected it, the bottom is dripping with my blood. When I move I can hear the squelching of a half-absorbed cushion.

“What did you do?” he leans over and examines my back, which is covered in two layers of t-shirts.

I glare and bat his hand away, “Why would I tell someone like you?”

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah. A self-centred prick.”

The girl snorts and both of us look at her. She backs away, but not enough to stop eavesdropping. I wink at her before continuing my conversation. He has leaned towards me now, winding his hand around the back of my chair for balance.

“What makes you think you have any right to place that label on me? I donate to many charities and go abroad to help people, What do you do?”

Well, he got me there. I can’t exactly tell him what I do because that would get me in a lick of trouble with everyone. I have kept my side-job a secret from everyone and I’m not about to tell some stranger at the ER. Slave-freeing is dirty work. Work, that if you get caught, you get killed. I doubt that I have changed as many lives as he has, but I haven’t just given them a little money. I have given them back their lives, their freedom. There is nothing as beautiful as seeing people step outside for the first time in months. Then tell them that they are free to go. I’ve given away thousands of pounds doing whatever I can to help those people and make sure that they don’t get put back in that situation again. Can he say the same?

“I take up one seat and don’t send my bodyguard to harass the hard-working staff.”

The man rolls his eyes and shuffles away from me, but I notice a slight smile curling the edge of his lips. The boy he sent off comes back around the corner. He glares at me with his wide beady eyes. His face is small and pale, his eyes like two wide saucers. They are large and full of menace. His lip curls up when he looks at me and I notice that it is right past my shoulder, I follow his gaze and see that the man’s arm is still thrown around my chair.

Ah, so jealousy is happening. Funny.

“Mr. Morden, the woman at the desk said you had to be patient.”

I consider this statement and say, “Well, he is patient. We all are when we’re here.”

My joke doesn’t go unnoticed, the girl watching us makes a wheezing noise that almost sounds like a laugh.

I grin at her and scoot forward, the blood oozes out of the seat and drips onto the floor. We all try to ignore it. The man retreats from me and huddles with the boy. They discuss things in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, I look back and see the girl staring at me.

“Hello,” I rest my head on my hand.

“Piacere.” She says. Her accent is thick and I recognize it as Italian.

“Do you speak English?”

She rocks on the balls of her feet, coming closer to me as the people around her shift and shuffle. They surround her and some even brush her clothes. I can see her flinch as they do.

I beckon her closer, “Hey, come here,” I let my hands hover over her as I position her right in front of me, “Stand here, No one will touch you this way.”

In a squeak she says, “How do you know?”

“I read your bracelet.”

“Oh. Why are you bleeding so much?”

I settle on, “I made someone mad so they used ancient methods to punish me for it.”

Her little nose crinkles, “Like using rulers on kids?”

I grin, “Exactly like that. How old are you?”

“10. How old are you?”

I suppose it’s only fair to answer back, “19.”

“What’s your name?”

“Alexander, Pleased to meet you,” I hold out one finger lazily.

She stares at it, then brings up her finger and pokes mine, “Luna.”

While we had been talking, I hadn’t been unaware of the escalation in the man and the boy’s conversation. The man grabs his shirt and pulls him down, no doubt snarling threats into his ear. The boy relents and shoves away, sulking out the door with haste.

He turns back to us and see’s our makeshift hand-shaking. He raises a brow again and offers a finger as well. She looks at me as if asking for a consultation. I give her an obvious side-wink. She giggles and shuffles towards him, bringing our connection into his reach. He presses a finger to ours.

“I’m Morden.”

I point at her, “Luna,” then to me, “Alexander. Or Alex for short.”

He gives me one long stare then turns to her, “So where are you from?”

“Polite-ville. Can’t say I’ve ever seen you there.”

I choke.

“Would you like me better if I gave up the seats?”

She stares at him. He huffs and lifts his leg up, losing his breath as he moves it. Why I am surprised when he swivels around and places it across my lap, I don’t know, but I am. He collects the towels and puts them on his lap. He leaves one on the chair beside him and she plops herself on it.

“You wouldn’t mind holding it, would you?”

“Apparently not,” I scowl down at him but find that it weighs almost nothing and leaning on it is much better than leaning on my arm, which had begun to have pins and needles. Now as I am closer, I see that his ankle is concaved. It looks distorted and swollen.

“I’m from Ancona in Italy,” I hear her say, an obviously practiced sentence.

Morden hums, “Yes. I’ve been there once or twice. A beautiful view of the water.”

“Where else have you been?” Something lights up her eyes and she leans forward, looking excited. He seems pleased with her and bites his bottom lip in concentration.

“Well, there was Singapore, Germany, Canada, the Philipines, and many other countries. What do you want to know?”

They talk about geography for a long time, him mostly sharing stories of strange encounters in Dresden or the vast farmland around Vancouver. Most things even I would find boring, Luna took interest in. Not for the first time I wondered where her parents were and why she was left all alone in this busy place. Just as that thought crossed my mind, the sliding glass door shot open and shouting and sirens were carried through to us. A group of EMT’s rush through with four trolley’s. Morden groans.

“Great, now we are going to be in here for even longer.”

I am reminded of why I loathed him before.


	2. Chapter 2

ALEX POV

Euphoria lasts for eight hours. I am a quarter through. Luna has fallen asleep on her chair, her face stuffed against the wall, using Morden’s jacket as a pillow. He so graciously offered her it twenty minutes ago. The rest of the time we have spent in silence. I wish I had a book to read, then I might be able to ignore Morden.

“So how does someone like you end up with cuts like these?” he grazes my shoulder blade with his fingertips, “Actually, it’s not that hard to imagine. I’ve never met someone with a mouth like yours.”

“Is that a compliment?” He pulls his hand away and puts it back on the chair.

He smirks, a short chuckle escapes his lips, “Only if you take it as one. Someone like you in my... business wouldn’t do well.”

I’m not an idiot, even if I seem like one. The way he is dressed, the ease of his words, his sketchy guard. It all screams “I am doing some illegal shit”. I know what that looks like from my exposure to Richard and Morden is exactly the type of person I have learned to identify from a kilometre away.

I play ignorant, having enough on my plate with horrible people. The last thing I want is another Richard telling me what to do and giving me false promises. The moment I can escape, I will. Right now all I can do is help others and hope my time will come.

“Are you an accountant? I feel like you have something to do with avoiding taxes.”

He snickers, “Sort of. I do some things with money occasionally.”

Of course, he would. If he is into drug dealing or slave trading he would have to calculate prices and how to get it into his bank account without alerting the government. Avoiding audits is hard work, I know that from constant lessons with Richards accountants.

“Is that why you are dressed in stereotypical old-man clothes or...?”

He starts to form a glare but we both get distracted by a flurry of people called up and sent into the hospital.

“Well... I was actually on my way to a party. When this happened.”

I look down at his ankle again, “Mm, yes. What did happen?”

“What do you think?”

I imagine a fight scene in which Morden is slammed against a wall and someone takes out his leg too roughly. Then I look at him and decide he would need to be at least somewhat filthy for that to be a possibility. I notice his palms, one of which is resting on his lap, has dirt smudged on the palm. 

“You tripped?”

He nods, his eyes twinkling, “Down the stairs. Quite the accident. How about you?”

“Would you believe that I tame lions and my whip went out of control?” I shift and he makes a high whistling noise.

He ducks his head and bites his lips, wrapping two firm hands around his leg. His knuckles go white as he grabs fistfuls of the fabric instead. His hair covers his face, but I can still peer through and see the way his eyes are squeezed shut. I suppose even sketchy people can feel pain. Guilt crawls up my throat and I reach up to gently rub his shoulder.

“Sorry, I really hadn’t meant to.”

“Oh it’s-,” He groans, “oh Fu- Damn.”

He presses his head against the wall and bites down on his bottom lip. The sweat drips off the tip of his nose.

I swallow and whisper, “I stepped out of line, I suppose. And it didn’t sit well with someone who I should have avoided letting find out.”

He keeps his eyes closed, but I notice he quiets his breathing. His hands are still clenched. It must be painful, to have a broken leg and not be able to do anything about it. I think it would be more dangerous if he took Euphoria, then he wouldn't know his limits. I try to think of what I could do to lessen his pain, and besides distract him, one thing comes to mind.

I continue to rub his shoulder with my left hand, but with my right, I pry up one of his fingers.

“I don’t really think I did anything wrong. If anything, I’m in the right and they are the wrong ones. When surrounded by immoral people, I’m expected to act that way too,” I successfully get my hand between his and his thigh. I twist my bloody fingers in between his clammy ones. He shivers.

“I stole something. The something in question happened to be a person. A living- breathing person.”

I got so focused on rubbing his knuckles with my thumb and rubbing his shoulder with my fingertips in sync that I momentarily stopped when he spoke.

“Who?” He is staring at me with those sunken dark eyes.

I resume my rubbing, “No one that matters...” _Anymore._

“No, who did you steal from?”

“Oh. I don’t know his name.”

A pale woman walks out with a clipboard, “Patient 342?” She calls out across the room and heads swivel in hope towards her.

Morden twitches and he takes a last look at me before calling out, “Here.”

I stay sitting as she and two others help him up. I reach to Luna, to wake her up so Morden can have his jacket back, but Morden tisks at me and tells me to leave her asleep. He disappears behind the corner and I quickly find myself bored.

It's not a surprise when I am shaken awake by a nurse. She is calling my number and I have to blink a few times to steady my vision. She looks concerned, holding a towel that is seeping red. I realize that must be my blood and wince. I check my watch.

Two hours left of Euphoria.

I’m taken to a white room where I am given even more drugs. They cut off my clothes and help me into a gown. After that, they turn me around and lay me on a bed.

A fast-paced man comes in to speak to me, “My name is Dr. Dy, I am an anesthesiologist. Please count down from ten.”

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

A rush hits my system and everything lurches.

“Eight.”

Even my own voice sounds groggy to me.

“Seven.”

My heart is loud in my ears. I can feel every hair on my body.

“Six.”

And then I can’t.

“Five.”

I can feel nothing at all.

“F...”

-

I wake up, not because of the beeping of machines, but because I get a wretched feeling in my gut. Richard, when he found me, told me that I was different. It fed my ego, but also my curiosity to see what was different about me. He calls it my sixth sense. I have been good at it since I was a kid, and know no one else who can do it.

I can observe a situation, and then make a guess as to what will happen next. Most of my process has now become subconscious, but I still sometimes do it purposely if I am in a tough situation. I can generate an impressive amount of ideas, and then narrow them down to the most possible path. It all depends on the people in the room, and how well I know them. If they are strangers, it is near impossible to guess.

So when I wake up, I am surprised to find myself with a guess fresh in my mind. Someone is watching me.

I try to move but am too dizzy. I am laying on my stomach, my hands placed on either side of my head. A UV is stuck in my hand, along with several sticky pulse monitors stuck to my chest and arms. I flip my head to face the door and see a girl standing the doorway.

I can hardly see her my vision is so blurry, but with a proper amount of squinting I get a good enough guess.

“Luna,” I rasp.

The girl takes a step back, then her form slowly starts to fill up more space as she moves closer. About a meter from me she gets clear, and she is wearing a cautious smile. She is wearing a gown, but I see that underneath she is wearing the pants she was before, and she has pulled on Morden’s coat. It makes for an interesting fashion statement. She isn’t wearing any bandages anymore and is looking fairly miserable.

“I found you,” She pulls a headkerchief out of her pocket and sits in a chair next to me.

I try to nod but choke instead. I thought she would laugh, but she frowns.

“I was wondering if you could drive me home, but you don’t look very good,” She leans closer and very slowly wraps the fabric around her finger. I am hopelessly watching as she wipes my lips and then my cheek.

I try to sit up and rest on my elbows, but she winces and jumps up. With her fingertips, she pushes me back down.

“Don’t do that. Your bandages will get all crinkled.”

I grunt, “They’ll survive.”

I stay down anyways, because it is easier for her to rub my face with the cloth, and the nurse comes in. He gives me a rather nasty glare and tells me to stay and wait for the doctor.

The doctor comes, gives me a prescription which I couldn’t pronounce if my life depended on it, and then does a bunch of tests that has Luna frowning deeper then before. I am released nearly 48 hours from when I came in.

“Hello?” Maria’s voice sounds from the bulky payphone next to my ear.

Luna jiggles up and down next beside me. The sliding doors open every few moments, and in with it washes a breeze of cold air. I have goosebumps speckling my arms and am desperate to get out of here.

“Hey, It’s Alex. Can you pick me up?”

There is a pause on the other side, with some muttering, then she starts, “There is a ch-,”

BEEP BEEP BEEP. The line goes dead. My head snaps up, my vision locking with Luna’s. I turn around to hang up and try again, but there is hand where I need to hang it. I follow the arm to find it attached to the young boy- Morden’s bodyguard. The arse cut my call off.

“What was that for?” I ask.

He huffs and gives me a once over, “Morden told me to drive you home.”

“No way.”

Luna flaps her arms, “Alex! Why not?”

I don’t want to have to explain to her that I am almost certain Morden is on the dark side of things, and I am worried about him kidnapping us. She makes several more whining noises, and I tug on a strand of her short brown hair to make her keep quiet. I look back to the guard and meet his stare.

“No thank you, we have a ride coming.”

“He told me I had to drive you home. I don’t have a choice. Make this easy, or else.”

Luna frowns, “Or else what?”

We both hault in our spots, remembering that Luna is a small child. He tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace. She backs away and chooses to position herself behind my legs.

“Nothing,” He grits out then turns back to me, “The car is right outside. Just. Come.”

It takes under two hours for them to pull up in front of my door. The guard, who remained silent in the front seat, now is gaping at Richard’s mansion. I hop out, and mutter a thank you, then slam the door shut. He and the driver jump and set the car back in gear.

I am still shocked about where we dropped Luna. It felt criminal to leave her there. I wanted to take her with me, let her sleep in my huge bed whilst I took the couch. We could slide on the floors together and I would treat her to the finest tea.

I had wished it was safe with me but knew it wasn’t. I felt hopeless when she had chirped, “This is my house!”

I reached out and grabbed her (Morden’s) jacket sleeve. She turned back to stare at me curiously. I muttered something about being safe and let her go. She pranced out and up to the door, knocking three times. A plump woman in her late forties opened it and when she saw us, she scowled at Luna and pushed her inside. When she slammed the door, dust flew out from the edges.

The guard hesitated, both of us stunned into silence as we stared at the decrepit townhouse. He started to drive when fat raindrops started to splatter the front window. The sign that hung in one of the filthy windows burned itself into my eyelids.

_Crystal Tree Orphanage For Girls._

I watch him pull out of the long winding driveway and disappear into the forest. I turn back and with a deep breath face Richard’s front door. Time for stage two of my punishment. Returning home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is to(/for) DigiFlakes because let's be real I completely forgot about this fic.

ALEX POV

“Alex,” Richard’s voice freezes me where I am and I take a few steps back to peek my head into the study, “Where are you going?”

He takes off his glasses and sets them on his book, taking the time to carefully meet my eyes. It’s easy to lie to Richard, and it’s also easy to get caught. I swallow and try not to think about my back- which still aches sometimes.

“I’m going to visit a friend.”

He sighs, “Do be back at a reasonable hour. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

“Of course.”

Getting out of that house is always a miracle. It is a prison rather than a home, and if I had my way I would never return at all. The first time I told Richard I wanted to leave, when I had started as his student, I was soothed and told how powerful and useful I would be. The second time I was starved for a month. Prick.

I have made plans. I never write them down or dare to think them around Richard, but they are there. With each growing moment, I am waiting and planning and observing. One day I’ll get out, and Richard will likely follow. Richard would hunt me down like a dog if I disappeared even if it was to make a point. I can’t escape him without earning my freedom or killing him for it.

I never borrow his cars, they are too easy to track. Instead, I call a cab and begin my walk down the long driveway to meet it by the roadside. I wrap my coat around me, only a little cold from the breeze. I haven’t seen any snow yet this year, but I dread it when it comes. It gets harder to get outside.

With the snow, I think of Luna. I haven’t seen her since that guard and I dropped her off. The state of the place couldn’t withstand the cold of a London winter. It’s a concrete box with holes for windows.

I reach into my jacket pocket and grab the stuffed bear I had Maria buy. Tobruk saw it and had a fit. He thinks I have a secret girlfriend. I have a secret but it sure isn’t her. I don’t know if she will want it, or is allowed to have it. It’s the best excuse I could come up with to see her.

“Sir, we do not accept any solicitation here. If you are here for adoption you’ll have to call in ahead.” The woman at the door has short-cropped blonde hair and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

I swallow, “Yes well, I dropped one of your girls off earlier this month- Luna? I don’t know her last name...,”

Her eyes narrow, “I remember. What do you want?”

For someone who is supposed to be helping these girls get homes, she isn’t too friendly. I suppose she gets her load of creeps though.

“I just wanted to talk to her? She seemed- uh- freaked out last time I saw her,” A bald-faced lie.

She nods once then slams the door in my face. Nice. Right. There goes that plan.

As I am about to walk back to the road the door opens again. “Alex!”

White bandages are fixed around most of her skin, her face thankfully clear. A smile is wide upon her face, wrinkles curling around her brown eyes. 

“Come on in,” She squeaks, “We can sit in the living room.”

She grabs my offered finger and leads me through the house. It's worse than I imagined. The halls poorly lit, wallpaper peeling and moulding. Through the walls, I can hear people talking, accompanied by a soft rumbling. Despite its disrepair, it has its charming pieces. The fire in the living room is one of many examples.

We sit across from one another, her in a plush chair with a high back and I on a loveseat. She looks so small in that wide chair, like it may keep eating her up until there is nothing left.

“Hey.”

I must sound like such an awkward ass. For the millionth time, I wonder if this is a good idea.

“Hi.”

“I brought you something. A- I know it's not a lot but- here.” I hold out the stuffed bear to her. I hate the tremble in my hands as she takes it from me.

For a moment she just stares at it, and then another bright grin floods her face. She clasps it to her chest in a slightly overdramatic fashion that completely warms my heart. Richard can be a bastard and take the skin off my back, but he will never take away this. The feeling of making someone else smile; something he has never done in his life.

“Thank you very much! I had a bear-like this when I was home. It was a little bigger though and kind of red.”

“When did you leave home?”

She plays with its ear, keeping her eyes downcast as she says, “Over a year ago.”

“Can I ask why? Is that- I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

She sucks in her lips and then raises her chin, “I want to ask you questions then. Like a game! All the other girls play games like this.”

I swallow down the implication that she doesn’t get to play too and nod. “It's your turn.”

“Why did you have all those cuts on your back?”

“Ah- I,” I try to think of a lie that would make sense. She looks like that's what she is expecting me to do as well, and she stares me down with a slightly crooked brow. I sigh. She might just be the death of me.

“My teacher doesn’t like me very much. I tried to save someone- she’s about your age actually- and he disapproved.”

It was a little worse than him disapproving. Fucking Jagadev had put camera’s in her foster home, he’s been hunting down these family lines for decades- god knows why. She’s been tossed between dozens of witness protection programs, but he somehow keeps finding her.

The other family line is a different story. Jagadev has lost complete track of the boy on that side. From what I know it's been driving him near insane which is why he is so focused on the girl. It was stupid to think I could go in there alone but I saw a window and I took it. Literally. I climbed through a window.

He got the recording of me looking around for her, and sent it over to Richard without thinking twice.

Luna frowned, “I guess it's your turn now.”

“Why are you here instead of at home?” I asked again, feeling that this exchange of secrets may not be for the best after all.

“Well, I went away. Mom and Pa were fighting all the time... over bills and other stuff. There was this girl in my class who was super rich and stuff and I went over to her house a few times. I- uh-,” She flushed a bright red, “I stole some of her money.”

I balked, “You travelled to London on  _ your own _ ?”

She shrugged, “I had help but- but kind of. Hey! That was a question. It’s my turn. What does your teacher teach you?”

“Oh.”

If she really did travel all that way on her own, she isn’t as young as I thought. Sure, she may be ten but she has more experience than the average girl. She’ll figure out I am bad news eventually but until then… well. I stare at her wide eyes, fidgeting with the bear in her lap. It's nice to have something like a friend. 

“He teaches me how to deal with people and run a business. He wants one of his students to take over his work for a few years while he travels.”

She blinks at me for a second and then smiles, “So he is like your pa?”

My jaw clenches, “He is nothing like my father.” 

It dawns on me that Richard might like her. I can tell from the twinkle in her eye. 

“You don’t like him that much. Why are you with him?”

I open and close my mouth trying to find an answer. The same answer I have been feeding myself for years.

“It’s better than where I was before.”

-

All the lights but one are out in the house when I return. I had lost track of time with Luna, we exchanged thoughts and memories back and forth for far past an hour before the older woman shooed me away and got her ready for bed. I hadn’t wanted to leave; strangely I wanted to take her with me or worse, stay with her. Either way, the trouble would follow. Better her safe there than like me.

I take a deep breath before turning the handle to the door and pushing myself into the house. Warmth greets me, and with it comes the usual ill-ease.

“Alex, come here please.”

Richard is in the same position as he had been when I left. Legs crossed atop a chair that costs more than every organ in my body. A book folded neatly on his lap, glasses perched on his bird-like nose. He is nothing to look at. He is just some man in a suit.

That’s exactly what he wants everyone to think.

He nods to a chair in front of him, and I sit down back rigid. I would give anything to be back with Luna in the warm room with chipped floorboards and faint squeaking laughter. Richard's lip begins to pull up on one side. I dig my thumbnail into my palm and force my hands not to shake.

“Will you tell me what this is?”

In his fingers, he holds up a white envelope. The top sliced open.

“A-a letter.”

He reveals his teeth in a pleased grin, “Very good. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable; Take off your shoes.” 


	4. Chapter 4

ALEX POV

The only thing pleasing about this night is the puddles beneath my feet and the way the street lights reflect off of them. I try to place my steps lightly, but even as I do the cuts still rub on my socks and cause me to wince. I suppose I should be thankful that Richard had stopped Tobruk before he got too carried away, but I can’t help but feel more than annoyed.

I had done nothing wrong. I just sent a letter. I had wanted to go home for Christmas this year, to meet my dad’s new wife. Richard suspected that I wouldn’t be coming back to the mansion if I went away, so he told me that if I didn’t come back he would make it his personal mission to bring me back where I belong.

_Where I belong._

I shiver and continue on my walk. I limp past the soulless storefronts, each with their backroom lit up. Like that would stop people from breaking in, from taking what they think they deserve. The meeting with Richard flashed into my mind, and I tried to push it out and keep on to the objective he gave me.

Locating the person of interest, and letting everyone else do the work. Not too hard, I have done it hundreds of times before.

The building is pure concreate. If someone told me it used to be a prison, I would not hesitate to believe them. All the windows have bars over them, every door has three locks, and there are security camera’s littered in every nook and cranny. She chose a good place to hide. Not that any of that would stop us- the buildings been abandoned for years. I wince as I step off the curb and approach the apartments. A car’s headlights peel through the dark, misty night. I recognize them as those of Tobruk's sports car. Or rather- Richards sports car. It catches me in its light, and then it pulls off to the side of the road.

I knock on the window. It rolls down to reveal Tobruk in a leather jacket with unnecessary shades. A cigarette dangles from his lips. Richard would be angry to know that Trobruk is smoking, especially so in his car. I spot a red canister at his feet. Around the handle is looped several of Tobruks oil-soaked rags that he uses when he works on the cars in the mansion's basement. My stomach twists as I picture what he plans on doing.

He grins when he sees my face pale, “Is this already too much for you, Alex?”

I step away, but he reaches out and wraps cold, slender fingers around my wrist.

“Not yet,” he chides, “What room is she in?”

“Floor two, 23,” I answer quickly, attempting to rip myself from his grasp. He digs his nails in and drags me to him. My head slaps against the wet roof, my shoes scraping on the pavement behind me. I clench my jaw, not willing to let him have the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

“You know, I think you should take me there, just in case.”

I swallow, “Richard said that I-,”

“Oh, I know what he said!” He barks, “But he isn’t here. I am.”

I think about running when he lets go. I have better stamina then he does; running from people your whole life does that to you. I scan the empty road, searching for quick exits I could take need be. Even without concentrating, I know that I won't make it out of his sight before he gets to me. Richard made sure that I won’t be able to do more than walk for some time.

I stand behind him as he rips some boards off a window, throwing them aside like they are paper. He grabs the front of my hoodie and throws me through. I see stars when my head collides with the ground, my shoulder popping viciously and my neck straining. It isn’t a surprise when I push myself up I find broken glass underneath me, slicing me open and digging their way into my skin.

She will know that we are here, she’ll try to escape. I tell Tobruk this and immediately regret it. The grin that pulls his lips up is vile. He enjoys the chace. Always has. Sometimes when Richard lets him he will make me run and use me as target practice. I shiver as I look into his hand, the gas canister swaying in his fingertips, the rags bundled around his knuckles.

“Where are the stairs?”

I take the lead, slow and steady as I climb each step. Part of me hopes that she gets away, and another darker part hopes that we get her. This is my third location of the week. The first was successful, and the second didn’t go well. Shireen would be here instead of Tobruk if that boy hadn’t kicked her out of a third-story window. I grit my teeth when I think of the sound her back made as it broke.

I push on, and we make it to the room at the very end of the hall where she is hiding. Inside is a small fire, illuminating her through the crack in the door. My breath catches as I get one good look at her face. Blonde hair tied back, cuts across her chin and cheek, and bags deeper than mine. It hurt to know that she didn’t hear our entrance, even if I thought she had.

Tobruk doesn't wait to gaze. He kicks the door the rest of the way open. She bolts to her feet, reaching for a piece of jagged glass near her sitting spot. Tobruk laughs as she holds it with both hands in front of her, backing up until her butt hits the wall.

“Yo-you can’t hurt me!” She says.

I spot a movement in the dark corners of the room and start to call out but then stop. Tobruk may get shot. And he may die. I close my mouth and put my back to a wall.

“Oh- you’re feisty. I like that in a woman.” He takes a cigarette out of his mouth and presses it to a rag. It goes up in flames instantly. I wince as he whips it at her, no doubt going for the first piece of exposed skin he sees.

She screams and then the man steps into the light.

“You back away, jackass!” He growls, holding the shotgun at Tobruk's face.

I notice the slight tremor to the gun, and my shoulders sag. Ah shit.

Tobruk kicks the embers of the fire towards the man and it takes a single second for his clothes to catch. He and the target begin to scream together as he burns. Tobruk approaches her and slaps the glass out of her hand, grabbing her by the throat. I clutch my stomach and bolt out of the room, heaving up my dinner in the hallway as I hear the man’s sobs increase and his scream slowly- painfully dies out.

Minutes, what felt like hours, later I drag myself off the floor and wipe my hands on my trousers.

Tobruk grabs the back of my hoodie and snarls, “You won’t survive in this world, Alex. Get to the fucking car.”

I do.


	5. Chapter 5

LUNA POV

I jump to the window sill when I hear the cab pull up on the street. The windows are fogged a little, but I can tell right away that’s its him. I have been watching for him ever since a week ago. When he came to the door the first time he looked so cold and thin. Like a piece of paper that might blow away with the breeze. I had wanted to beg Mrs.C to let him stay, but I knew that if I did that she might not have let him back.

She thinks he might want to adopt me.

It had been the morning after. Me and the other girls were having breakfast at the big yellow table in the kitchen. Normally they don’t talk to me. They barely even look at me. But then I was the center of attention. I can’t say hated it, but it was still annoying.

“He is my friend,” I said again, “I met him at the hospital.”

The older girl, Clarie, giggled, “I saw him through the window, he was so cute.”

The other girls sighed, putting their heads in their hands like this was some fairy tale story. I squeezed my fork a little bit harder knowing that there was no way she would have been able to see him. Besides, Alex would never stoop so low.

“Ladies,” Mrs. C scolded (not that it did much), “He is interested in adopting Luna, not being the center of your interests.”

“Can’t he be both?” Another girl whined.

I ignored her and asked, “Do you think he really does?”

Mrs. C considered it for a moment, bouncing her head back and forth on her shoulders before smiling to me, “I sure hope so. You’re getting to be a bit old. Why else would he give you stuffed toys?”

There was a gasp, “Why does she get presents but we don’t?” There were other mumbles and protests, but Luna couldn’t hear them. She had been too busy grinning at her oatmeal.

I stay at the window until I’m positive it is Alex. There is a vase next to me that I nearly knock over when I hop on to my bed. I act natural, A few moments later Mrs. C knocks on my door and brings me downstairs to one of the nicer living rooms where Alex is already waiting.

He looks worse than last time.

In a different way, a way not defined in weight or in the paleness of his skin, but the way his eyes are dull and bore into anything he turns them to. His hands, just like last time, have a slight tremor to them, and his eye is doing this weird twitchy thing.

“I’m fine,” He says before I can even ask if he is okay.

I screw up my lips, “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

He shrugs and attempts a smile, “It’s my superpower?”

His voice is dead off his lips. Toneless, broken. What did his teacher do to him this time? Or maybe, what did he do to himself?

“You aren’t okay.”

He stares at me for a few more seconds before ducking his head into his hands. He rubs his eyes with his palms, his whole body starting to adopt that vicious tremor his hands always seem to have. I stand up from my spot, drawing close to him but not too close, just in case. I only have bandages on my arms today, which makes the hand I lay on his shoulder all the more dangerous.

He stills, and then somehow, even more impossibly, folds further into himself. For a moment I imagine what would happen if he kept going, eventually fading away and into nothing. I put another hand on him, and squeeze. I can’t let him go anywhere.

“What happened?”

I’ve never been good at comforting people. I have the urge to try now though, with Alex crying on the couch.

“I killed someone.”

“Oh.”

There are a few moments of silence, then he lifts his head. Somewhere in my mind, there is a voice telling me that _this man killed someone._ I want to move away, but I don't.

“Alex-,”

He jerks away from me like I am a flame his hand accidentally brushed. His eyes are large saucers as he scrambles off the couch and up.

“I’m- I.” The words barely come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go- I. You’ll get hurt.”

As if he knew, Mrs. C opens the door and peeks her head in. Her eyebrows furrow as she takes in the situation. Alex rushes to her, quietly thanking her and pushing past. I scramble up, moving to follow but Mrs.C puts a hand out in front of me. 

She keeps it there until the door is clicked shut behind him.

“Come, Luna,” She says, her voice not quite soft, “Come now and go to bed.”

I nod. Once and twice, and three times. Still staring at the door. My mind whirling and whizzing past as the colourful streetcars did at home. My feet carry me quick up the stairs, hoping that I may get one last glimpse through my window.

Mrs.C pushes my back gently into the room, then turns off the lights and shuts the door. A clear sign she wants me to stay quiet and out of the way.

I wait a few breaths, staying as still and as patient as I can while I listen to her retreating footsteps. When they fade enough to be overtaken by the sounds of my thundering heart I race to the window, nearly knocking over the vase again, and press my face to the fogged glass.

There is a figure. Across the street. They are tall and broad-shouldered. There is a flicker at their fingertips and for a moment I think it is some sort of magic, then I catch sight of a larger flame. A lighter illuminates the person's face as they bring it close to light a cigarette.

It isn’t Alex, that I am certain. It sort of looks like him in a way, just ruder. Alex is soft, even his sharp chin and thin eyebrows. His hair is light and fluffy, landing on his head each this way and that like a bird's nest but in a charming way. This man is mean. A copy of a Disney villain. All charcoal lines and sharp edges. He has the same chin, but it juts out at a weird angle. His hair is greased and lean. I swallow, feeling something in my gut clench just from the sight of him.

The cigarette lights and the flame disappears. His mouth moves, But I can’t hear what he is saying. My fingers find the rusted clasp of the window and with both hands, I manage to yank it unlocked. I hesitate and wait for the right moment. Just as that thought passes my mind, the man crosses the street. A car pulls up behind him, and with squeaky breaks, I thrust the window outwards.

The man doesn’t look up.

I look down, and with some delight, I see another silhouette. Another tall one, but lean and whip-ish. Alex, most certainly Alex.

“What a _surprise_ to see you here,” The smoker drawls.

“What are you doing here.”

The smoker laughs, blowing smoke into his face. “Richard sent me, of course. You really think you can keep sneaking off without someone noticing? Pathetic.”

I recognize Alex’s sigh and he says, “I wasn’t sneaking out, I told him where I was going.”

“Oh right. _To see a friend._ See, we were worried that you’d be a bitch and run off. Do we have to worry about you being a bitch, Alex?”

“Don’t call me that,” He grits out.

“But isn’t that what you are? My bitch?”

Alex growls and charges, but not to hit him, to walk across the street and towards the car. The smoker has other plans. He reaches out an arm, wrapping it around Alex’s throat and bringing him close to his chest. I can hear the squeaking of Alex’s shoes against the concrete, the gasps of his breath.

“You always wanna run, don’t you?” The man hisses.

One of Alex’s legs hooks back and lands a kick to his knee, causing him to loosen his grip in pain. He slips away and again tries to get to the car. The man reaches out again, this time landing a blow to the back of Alex’s head. Alex stumbles, almost falling before the man catches him by the arm.

Alex kicks again, but this time misses. The man jerks his arm until he relinquishes and goes slack, then begins to pull him away from the street and close to the wall. Right under her window.

“Now now,” he mutters, “You’re a real pain in my ass. You know?”

Alex growls, “Oh I could be worse.”

The man pretends not to hear him, “You wanna know how much a pain you are, Verus? Do you? Huh? _Answer me god damn it._ ”

Alex cries out as his arm is twisted again. But he doesn’t give an answer. The man mutters something, then with one quick movement, the cigarette is out of his mouth and is buried into the exposed flesh of Alex’s hand.

I step away from the window, a hand clasped to my mouth as Alex nearly screams in agony. I thought it would end but it didn’t, not for a few long seconds. Then before I can get back to the window I hear the dull thwack of another hit.

Alex is on the ground, and the man standing above him, lighting another cigarette. My elbow brushes against the vase and it wobbles. I grab it with one hand, my heart hammering, terrified that he may notice me.

Then he throws another kick into Alex’s back. And another and another. And Alex isn’t even moving anymore.

My aim isn’t perfect, yet it doesn’t seem to matter as my fingers tremble, releasing the vase mid-air. It whirls down, cracking upon the man’s head and shattering into thousands of pieces. I take one last glance before I pull the window shut, but I swear I could see Alex laughing.


End file.
